


Sheer Lunacy

by riteslut



Series: Blood Moon Mania [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Divination, Dreams, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Jealousy, Loneliness, Minor Character Death, Possessive Behavior, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Scenting, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-28 23:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riteslut/pseuds/riteslut
Summary: “It’s nightshade wine. I don’t believe they use Deadly Nightshade anymore.” Draco mused, holding his glass by the stem as he swirled the wine in slow circles, “They say it causes delirium and hallucinations.”“The plant or the wine?” She eyed the Slytherin in astonishment.Malfoy lazily shrugged.Hermione glanced at the glass in her hand suspiciously before bringing it to her lips once more.





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and left feedback on my first piece. While that was written with the intention of it being a stand-alone, I wasn't completely satisfied with my ending so I've written a little continuation. This fic picks up right after, with Hermione and Draco coming to terms with what they've done and what that will mean for them.

_ The emptiness wracks her body, tremor after tremor pulsing through her spine. As if her heart was trying to pull itself out of her body, her stomach tying itself tighter and tighter into knots. _  
_ “Granger?” The voice distant, faint. _  
_ But she can smell him. Clean and resuscitating, a light at the end of the tunnel pulling her through, guiding her way. _  
_ And then a hand comes to brush the hair out of her face and the touch is like heaven. The fingertips dragging across her skin like velvet, radiating from the trail, through her body. She grabs the collar of his robes, reveling in the presence. If she could just get closer, more to touch, more to smell. Then she’d feel better, she’d be okay._

Hermione was starving by the time she entered the Great Hall. 

Wednesdays mean Ancient Runes at half past ten, then double Potions after lunch. 

Vacation left as quickly as it arrived. The day after Christmas Hermione regretfully sent her parents, and Harry and Ron, letters explaining her absence in addition to their unfortunately late gifts.

_ "Black Cat Flu is going around this time of year!" _

While distraught with illness she knew realistically there was no way she would have been able to last the train ride leaving Hogwarts. Yet she still couldn’t ignore her bout of loneliness since starting school. She would have really enjoyed leaving for the holiday. Whether her family or visiting the Burrow, it didn’t matter. At least she’d have seen someone. 

Her physical well-being as well as appearance had unmistakably improved. She was arguably back to normal. In terms of vigor, anyway. The same could not be said for her mental soundness. With her confusion and hesitance on coming to terms with _ whatever it was _ that happened on Christmas Eve, desperately trying to learn about an illness that had little study or documentation on it. And then of course during the day she focused on her schooling, pouring through her course material in preparation for the NEWTs. 

Yet at night, in bed. Her mind would wander, memories of the night of her Frenzy trickling through her mind. She’d remember how Draco made her feel. How he was able to satiate the quaking fever, how the agonizing burn was cooled by his touch and smell. And even during her incoherent-state, she knew she needed more. He had to be inside her. She needed him to fill her, the ache in her body waiting for his seed. 

Lying awake at night she’d trace the lips between her legs, slick with moisture. His name would tumble off her lips, breathy and desperate as she’d come. Then, instantly replaced with guilt. 

Two eggs, two strips of streaky bacon, half a grilled tomato, and a piece of fried bread. Unashamedly. As she ate and waited for the post, she caught the gaze of a familiar glowering blonde across the Great Hall. His eyes caught hers, holding them for a moment before casting them down onto his breakfast. Hermione trailed her attention to the brunette sat beside Draco. Theodore matched Draco in height, but was more tawny in complexion. His shoulders narrow and his posture straight. Tousled dark hair fell past his ears, wavy locks curling around his strong jawline, blushed features. He filled out with age, no longer so stringy or weedy. 

He opposed Draco’s lithe fairness, his nearing-white hair in a tidy coiff high atop a slender face and sharp chin. She thought of how he visited her in the library, how weary he looked. She couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t sleeping well then. Though it seems he rested well over the holiday, for he too looked revitalized. 

Madam Pomfrey had admitted, while she had heard of Ostros Frenzy, she had never treated it. She reluctantly revealed what she did know, it did little but confuse Hermione further. Madam Pomfrey had heard cases of young witches being driven to madness, begging for the Killing Curse, absolutely wrought with pain and misery. Those that lived through the Frenzy did so by having a partner, someone to bed them and reduce their symptoms. While Hermione was unsure of why Draco was in that bathroom that night, or even further -- why he stayed. The message Madam Pomfrey alluded to above all else was clear, Draco saved her. 

The flock of owls brought the days’ letters, a sharp formal envelope almost fell into Hermione’s tea. 

_ Attn: Ms Granger _

_ On behalf of the entire ward, we hope that you recover quickly. Should Poppy not be doing so already, stewed mint will help reduce fever and essence of Valerian root can be applied externally. _

_ Regarding information on other cases. Our floor hasn’t held a witch with Ostros Frenzy in nearly a decade. The healer privy to treat Ms. Penelope Nott has since retired. While we are sympathetic of your circumstances we are not able to fulfill your request for a copy of Ms. Nott’s file. Treatment records may only be divulged to next-of-kin. _

_ Should you suffer from symptoms in the near or distance future we strongly encourage you to be admitted for further treatment. _

_ Furthermore we wish you nothing but prosperity and would like to match our sympathy with gratitude for your heroic acts during the war. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _  
  
_ Jude Dovetail _  
_Healer-In-Charge of the Ailments and Diseases Ward _  
_ St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

It was obvious Theodore knew of Hermione’s condition if he had spoken to Draco about it. She was familiar with Nott's father, a devoted Death Eater who escaped Azkaban and died during the Battle of Hogwarts. And though the Nott name held pureblood distinction, she couldn’t recall Theodore ever denouncing her blood-status. Unlike Malfoy, Theodore never called her a mudblood. Never jeered at Harry or Ron. Maybe sniggered when Draco and the boys would have their ego-driven scuffles, but so did all the other students that circled the courtyard, egging them on. Come to think of it, she rarely had seen him hanging around Draco’s gang. Goyle finished his seventh year more or less unscathed, as did Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Yet their bond, as two outsiders, made sense. 

And for the most part, Nott seemed mostly harmless. 

\-- --

Hermione counted her steps with deliberate calculation as she walked to Potions, determined to show up as late as possible without actually risking lateness. It was tricky, trying to avoid the ingrained desire to show up early, to sit at her usual station. She liked the desk up front on the right side of the classroom. 

The class was half-full when she arrived. Scanning the classroom surreptitiously, she pulled from the familiar cache of Gryffindor boldness as she walked towards the left, before trying to muster a sense of grace. Slytherins seemingly always possessed this immaculate refinement and elegance. Likely derived from those long family lines of pureblood aristocracy, she supposed. 

She stopped beside the seated brunette, who turned immediately at her presence. 

“May I sit?” 

A coy smile played on his lips as he dragged his gaze over Hermione’s form.

“Certainly.” Theodore nodded towards the empty seat. 

Hermione sat wordlessly, her attention was swung to the table directly in front as Draco filed in to take the seat in front of Nott. She thought he would turn around but he kept himself faced forward. One might have even thought she was disappointed that he didn't turn, if only for the better part of a second; the feeling vanished regardless. 

“I’d like to,” Hermione wavered, “ask you something personal.”

“Just as quick on the draw as I assumed.” Theodore said, his eyes crinkled amusedly. 

Blaise Zabini did not hide his notice of her presence, grimacing blatantly as he passed the pair and lowered in the seat next to Draco.

It seemed foolish now, asking this stranger to divulge such sensitive information to another stranger. A stranger more-or-less responsible for the death of his father, the crumbling of his family name. Something between embarrassment and vulnerability started to settle over her. Flanked between tall, broody, mudblood-hating Slytherins.

She moved to gather her things and stand, before Slughorn entered the class with a hurried gait.

“Good afternoon, class! Take a seat everyone, take a seat! We have much to do today!” 

Hermione sank back into her chair, chagrined. 

“Now that we’ve finished up with Polyjuice Potions, we will move onto the next potion you lot will be expected to recreate for your NEWTs.” Professor Slughorn gestured to the cauldron softly gurgling away at the front of the class. 

With a quick movement of his wand, a stick of chalk flew to the board at the head of the room. 

_ Amortentia _ _  
_ _ Page 112 _

Slughorn removed the lid from the small gold cauldron. The distinctive spiraled steam spewed out, delicate smoky tendrils tumbled onto the desk. Even from the middle of the classroom Hermione could see the glistening mother-of-pearl sheen. 

“As you all know, it is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. Amortentia will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. Just as I had said for Polyjuice Potion and Veritaserum, I will be counting vials and keeping inventory of the store cupboards! I expect full cauldrons from everyone and not a drop missing, now off you go!” Professor Slughorn chirruped.

The class stood to retrieve their needed materials and fetch a set of scales. She was bracing herself as she walked past the cauldron, clearing her throat in anticipation for the wafting of new parchment and freshly mowed grass. The wind was quickly knocked out of her when instead, she was met with the dazzling smell of rain. 

\-- --

“Granger.” Theodore cocked a brow in surprise. 

She didn’t have dinner with her House, instead studied in the Gryffindor common room and finished off the mince pies Mrs. Weasley had sent. Half past eight o’clock she meandered down to the Great Hall, knowing Malfoy and company were usually some of the last to leave supper. Sitting on the marble stairs with her book, just as she had for Draco, she waited. 

“A moment?” Hermione asked, over Theodore’s shoulder she watched as Draco and Blaise eyed them curiously before continuing to the Slytherin common room. 

She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to talk about this in front of them. While it was apparent that Theodore knew the details of her condition, she was unsure if Blaise did. Moreover, Blaise had made it clear that regardless of her valor he still believed she was undeserving of a role in the wizarding world. It was likely he was biting his tongue as to finish the school year with as little strife as possible. That sentiment was shared with many of the other students whose education was disrupted during the war and returned to finish up their last year. After so much conflict, so much spilled blood, everyone was too exhausted for anymore hostility. 

“As many as you’d like.” He flashed a quick smile. 

Her brow furrowed. He looked at her patiently. Not a smidge of resentment or malice. Pulling her gaze off his surprisingly brilliant blue eyes, she glanced down at the floor. 

“I was hoping you could help me,” She paused, took a breath, “I would hate to seem presumptuous but Malfoy mentioned your mother had the same illness I seem to have. I’ve written to St Mungo’s however they only release treatment records to the next-of-kin.”

She spoke quickly, eyes crawled back up to meet his sight once again.

“Can you help?” She hoped he didn’t hear the desperation behind the words. 

“You haven’t asked anything of me.”

He was just being cheeky now. 

“Will you write to St Mungo’s and ask for your mother’s records?” 

He studied her with piercing scrutiny, icy blue irises glimmering back and forth, settling once more on her face. She suddenly felt self conscious of her own drab brown eyes. His deliberation before answering was curious. Hermione wondered if she’d ever hesitated in the same manner when being asked for help. On the contrary, she worried she couldn’t offer her assistance fast enough. 

“No.” He finally proclaimed.

“Why not?” 

“I already have a copy.” Theodore quipped, seemingly pleased she had fallen into his little word trap. 

“Oh,” Hermione gulped, “So what’s the problem?”

“No problem.” He said plainly. 

It dawned on her suddenly. He wanted her to ask properly. Damn Slytherin.

“Nott, may I borrow the copy of your mother’s records?” She drew out every word, before crossing her arms over her torso. 

Theodore’s smile was skirting on condescending as he ran a hand through his mussed inky hair. That couldn’t have been a nervous trait. He was in his element, throttling conversation with someone he thought was inferior. The mane settled around his face in perfect cascades. 

He knew what he was doing. He went in for the kill. 

Hermione realized she was staring, tore her gaze down to her feet. Theodore realized she realized she was staring, took a step forward. 

“I’ll write home tonight. To our house-elf, Maraby. She won’t dawdle. You’ll have it by morning.” He was a head taller and looked down as he spoke. 

“Thank you.” She offered. 

“And by then I'll have thought about what I’d like in return.” Theodore was practically beaming as he languidly turned to leave for the Slytherin common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never be able to say thank you enough for sharing your time with my writing, and as always, feedback helps me learn and develop and I appreciate it deeply. 
> 
> (When writing Theodore Nott I almost always picture Rory Culkin. I have no idea why. I'm sorry if that ruins the fanon.)


	2. Part Two

“You’re droolin’, mate.” 

Draco instantly brought the back of his palm to the corner of his mouth before having caught the taunt. Rolling his eyes, he pulled back down to the bowl in front of him. Theodore snickered. 

“I’ve been wondering myself,” Theodore reached across the table for a slice of toast, “Who she ended up laying with.”

“So certain she’s been shagged?” Draco feigned interest while dredging his corn flakes around with his spoon.

“If she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t be here right now.” Theodore said simply. 

Draco said nothing, his eyes wandered back across the Great Hall. Hermione’s sat almost directly across from him. He hasn’t been able to shake her from his thoughts. Since he held her small, soft hands inside his. Looked at her pleadingly, begging for some shard of understanding. Maybe if she would forgive him, if she could look past his despicable aura -- he’d be absolved. 

She hasn’t left his mind since he’s been inside her. Since he pumped his hips against hers and she shook underneath him as he filled her with his seed. Seed she begged him for. 

“It’s supposedly the best sex you’ll ever have. All just pheromones and endorphins amuck. Innit’ a shame? The best fuck a witch can give and she probably didn’t even know it.” 

Draco stopped listening. His heart thrummed as she looked up, meeting him. He tried to channel some thought through to her. Scoured his brain for something. What would he even say? What is there to say? 

_ I want to touch you again _ She’d hex him into oblivion. 

_ I want to help you _Help with what?

_ I’m sorry _

‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t even scratch the surface. 

Instead he wrenched back down to his breakfast, better than gawking hopelessly. 

“You lot still on about the mudblood?” Blaise interjected from across the table. 

Draco winced, Theodore sat up a little straighter. The boys may have once been foolish, but their families had seen enough bloodshed to know better than to keep using that word. All the anguish and devastation would not be for nothing. The blight the Malfoy name will carry, forever marring wizarding history. 

“Why she hangin’ ‘round anyways?” Blaise pointed at Theo with the tines of his fork. 

“Granger needs a favor.” Theodore shrugged.

“She better not try sittin’ _ here _ next_._” Zabini snarled, returning to his previous conversation on the other half of the table. 

The daily post came. A parcel was dropped in between Theodore and Draco, landing in a plate of breakfast sausages. A haphazard bundle all wrapped up in brown paper and tied with thin twine. Theodore opened it, pulling out a stack of papers before immediately standing and walking over to the other side of the Great Hall. 

Malfoy could see the interaction clearly but wished he could hear. Hermione looked excited, standing to greet him as he held the papers up. She spoke quickly, flipping through the papers vaguely. Theodore said something, then moved his hand to comb through his hair. 

Bastard. Girls loved that move and he knew it. 

Theodore returned to the Slytherin table. Looking over Theo’s shoulder, Hermione packed her bag quickly and left the Great Hall. To the library, he assumed. 

“Your mum’s folder from St Mungo’s?” Draco mused, eyes downcast. 

His appetite was unpredictable these days. His corn flakes, now soggy, were better left in the bowl. 

Theodore hummed in confirmation, leafing through the rest of the package. A handful of sweets, and a letter -- he didn’t know Maraby could write. Theo pulled out a small round biscuit tin.

“These are shortbread. Maraby must’ve packed them for you, she knows you like shortbread.” Nott cracked open the lid, taking out a small stack then handing the blue container over. 

Draco took it. He did like shortbread. 

  
\-- --

His fingers gripped tighter, flicked his wrist up and down, gaining speed. Getting closer to the edge. Draco tipped his head back into his pillow. He closed his eyes. 

_ Her flushed skin, smooth flesh curving up to meet perfect supple breasts. He pinches a nipple with the tips of his fingers, rolling the flesh back and forth. She groans. Leaning over, placing wet kisses on her slender neck. Nipping under her ear, trailing up to bite her lobe. Draco thrusts loosely, carelessly. He wants her to say it. _

_ She clenches around him, glassy doe-eyes pour into his as she bucks her hips to meet him. Her breath shortens, her pace irregular as her chest heaves, taut nipples coming up to press into his torso. _

“_Draco, please._”

His breath caught in his throat as his pelvis jerked erratically, the muscles in his calves clenched. Ropes of milky seed spilt on his stomach. Draco pumped through his orgasm, releasing his breath. As the warming glow in his pelvis settled, dissipated throughout his body, clarity crept from the back of his mind towards the front.

Laying in bed, belly covered in his own semen, he looked up. Morning twilight scattered it’s blue sheen across the ceiling of the dorm. He tucked himself back into his undershorts. Draco reached for his wand, cleaned himself before removing the Silencing Charm on him. Gingerly pulling the curtains around his bed apart, he moved to his dresser.

He was early to breakfast. Earlier than usual, anyway. Draco was able to watch Hermione enter the Great Hall, looking particularly bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Assumedly, Nott’s little gift brought her some comfort. Walking down the dining room she looked over to the Slytherin side, scanning the length until she met eyes with Draco, then pulled away to continue walking. Taking her seat on the outside bench of the Gryffindor table, facing in -- as usual. 

It occurred to him that she was looking for Nott, prior to being bombarded by Draco’s gaffe stare. A heat rose in his core, rising to his chest. He started preparing his tea, charming a mug of water to instantly heat itself, dropping a tea bag inside. 

The rest of the Slytherin table started filling as Theodore’s head appeared above the crowd pouring into the Great Hall. Hermione jumped from her seat, lugging her bag over her shoulder as she walked up the stream of incoming students to meet him. For the second time, Draco wished he could hear as well as he could see. 

Hermione was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she spoke, hands gestured to and fro. She pulled the stack of papers from her bag, handed them over. Theodore’s entire torso shook as he laughed, nodded his head in some sort of agreement. Tucking the papers under his arm he walked towards Draco. 

“Good morning,” Theodore settled into the bench opposing Draco, “You left the dorms early.”

Malfoy said nothing, stretching across the table to grab toast from the platter beside Theo. He buttered it liberally before reaching by Theodore once more for a ramekin of jam. 

“What would Narcissa say? Your table manners are better than that.” Nott jested, having noticed Draco’s cold shoulder.

Draco fished out the tea bag from his mug with a spoon, plopped it on the edge of his plate. 

Theodore’s chest rose and fell as he huffed, grabbing a mug and filling it with water from a carafe, preparatory to charming it. 

“Can you please pass me a tea bag?” Theodore sighed. 

Draco took a bite of his toast. 

“For fuck’s sake, Draco!” Nott exclaimed.

Malfoy grabbed a tea bag, lazily flicked it towards the brunette. Theodore snatched the pouch, threw it into his mug. He prepared his plate with eggs and bacon, taking a few bites before opening his mouth to speak.

“I’m not going to fuck you over.” Theo said solemnly. 

Draco took a sip of tea, looking over the top of his mug. Just past Theo’s shoulder, he saw Hermione leaving the Great Hall. She must not be expecting any mail today.

“I’ve known you since we were in prams! You think I’d do that to you?” Theo urged.

A knot tightened in Draco’s throat. He took another drink.

Theodore glanced up and down the table.

“You were with her, weren’t you? When she was ill?” Nott leaned down, his voice almost a whisper.

“I was.” Draco admitted, his voice hoarse. 

“You absolute wanker!” Theodore hissed, straining to keep his voice low. 

“You’ve no idea.” Malfoy huffed. 

“Even after I told you how serious it was! What it does to your head. Hers too, I’m sure.” Theodore went on, “And now I have to deal with your knickers gettin’ in a knot whenever anyone breathes on her!” 

“Not anyone! You! You're the one being nice to her!” Draco spat. 

The realization dawned on Draco immediately, how ridiculous he sounded. Letting himself get so frustrated over his pal being _ nice. _ Theodore laughed, Draco tried not to look so helpless. 

“She was scared. I’m sure it’s hard, not having Potter or Weasley or her other little lion friends. She just wants to know what’s happening. Can’t blame her. I’d want answers too, if I shagged some random bloke during a fever dream.” Theo shrugged. 

They ate in a heavy silence for a few minutes. Theo splashed some milk in his tea, then looked at Draco almost expectantly as he stirred a spoon into the mug. 

“Well?” Nott implored. 

“Well what?” Draco sighed, exhausted that this conversation was still going. 

“What was it like?” Theodore bit his lip, “What was _she_ like?” 

The way Theo looked at him was unusual, almost afraid. Like he was searching Draco’s face for more, trying to coerce something. He wasn’t asking about the sex. He didn’t care about how it felt for Draco, if it was different than other times he’d been with a girl. 

He was asking if his mother died in pain.

“I found her in the prefects’ bathroom, she was trying to run a cold bath. Her skin felt like it was burning and she was dripping sweat. But she wasn’t really there. I’d never seen someone’s eyes so glassy. She wasn’t very responsive to anything.” Draco’s voice was flat, trying not to reveal too much.

He couldn’t tell if Theodore was satisfied with that answer or not. It didn’t seem like Theodore knew either. 

“Do you … fancy her?” Theo’s brow scrunched together, corner of his mouth twisted up at the bizarre question.

Draco brought his fingertips to rub his closed eyelids, propping his elbows on the table.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” 


	3. Part Three

The girl’s lavatory on the second floor was empty. It almost always was. At the start of each school term, first year girls were quickly filled in on all the terrors that occurred there, to steer them away from ever accidentally popping in. 

It was evening, just before supper. The streaky light cusping sundown filtered through the large ornate window, barely illuminating the dilapidated bathroom.

“Myrtle?” Hermione called. 

Hermione steered around still water puddling the floor, walked up to the sinks in the center. Looking into the mirror spotted with rust, her own reflection rippled against the cracked pane. She ran her fingers through her hair, lightly combing out some of the more unruly kinks. Cocking her head down into the chipped sink, she eyed the small snake embedded into the grimy gold faucet. She shivered as her finger traced over the broken tap.

Myrtle floated down from the ceiling, timidly, not making eye contact. Hermione first saw her in the mirror, before turning to greet her.

“Myrtle.” Hermione said softly. 

“Your Frenzy didn’t look like very much fun.” Myrtle murmured, looking down at her fingers as she twiddled them together. 

“You were there?” 

The ghost nodded her head, pouting.

“Did you see?- ” Hermione started, before Myrtle interrupted.

“Only after Draco Malfoy came in. I thought he was hurting you, at first. But then,” Moaning Myrtle sighed, “Well. We both know he wasn’t.”

She dramatically huffed once more before slowly sliding up to sit cross-legged on the stall partitions. 

“He used to visit me all the time, you know. He’d come cry in my stalls because he was lonely and didn’t have anyone to talk to. He wasn’t afraid to show his feelings and cry.” Myrtle looked up wistfully, as if in deep reverie. 

“I’m sorry Myrtle.” said Hermione. 

“He said sweet things to you. You probably didn’t even hear them, up to your ears in sweat.” Myrtle continued, “Apologised all night long. Called you perfect and beautiful as he kissed your forehead and dressed you.” 

A little sob crept from Myrtle’s body as she brought a pale handkerchief up to her face, dabbled the tops of her cheeks with a corner.

Shivers shot straight up Hermione’s spine, starting from the base of her tailbone. She _ didn’t _ hear him.

“I really am sorry. I know he was confiding in you during our sixth year.”

“Oh, no. No use being sorry for me. Nobody was sorry when I died, why should anyone be sorry now?” Myrtle blew into the hankie, followed by delicate sniffles. 

Hermione gulped, frowning for the poor ghost. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s alive and deserves a girl who’s alive too. He fancies you. Do you fancy him?” Myrtle looked down to Hermione, teardrops pressed against the inside of her thick glasses. 

The question was sudden, but Myrtle’s frankness was not unusual. The two girls stared for a moment, Myrtle from atop the stall, her eyes glistening with tears on the brink of falling. Hermione leaned back to rest her bum on the sinks’ edge.

“Yes, I do.” Hermione said tentatively.

Myrtle swallowed thickly but said nothing, hugging her knees as she brought them to her chest. 

“Do you know of any other witches at Hogwarts that had a Frenzy?” asked Hermione.

She had almost forgotten the reason she came into the bathroom in the first place. While she had never considered truthfully if she fancied Draco or not, she knew she did. But she’d rather mull over that alone in the comfort of her own bed, not in a decrepit bathroom with a ghost.

“Maybe a Penelope?” Hermione said, hopefully.

“Oh yes, that Slytherin _whore_!” Myrtle finally cried shrilly, “Is that why you've come here? To remind me that I'll never be able to feel a lover's touch?’” 

At the recollection of the encounter, Myrtle burst into tears before zipping through the air and vanished. 

\-- -- 

The tap-tap-tapping woke her up. Hermione didn’t mean to fall asleep. She was studying in bed before she dozed off. Peeling the book off her torso, she stood up to open the window. 

The owl looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Large and tawny, mottled with black. 

She opened the window and the tufted owl hopped in, ruffling his feathers against the cold January night. Frantically searching her room, Hermione pulled out a slightly-crumpled box of cockroach clusters from her trunk. She offered one to the owl, who snapped it up eagerly before sticking out a leg. The small note was secured with a bit of string.

_ H.G., _  
_ Your presence is requested at The Three Broomsticks tomorrow 6pm _ _  
_\- T.N.

The tall owl pecked at her fingers once more. She obediently offered another bug. 

\-- --

Hermione felt silly the following evening, sifting through her Muggle clothes. The last five months cooped up in Hogwarts left her feeling anxious and out of sorts. With Harry and Ron running all across Europe, Ginny getting drafted to play for the Holyhead Harpies, the rest of her year already having graduated, even Hagrid pursuing a proper place for Grawp in the mountains. Hogsmeade would be nice, regardless of whatever Nott would ask of her. 

But this wasn’t a date; she needn't care about what to wear. 

She fondly thought about the Yule Ball, her beautiful gown of periwinkle blue. How stunning she felt, stares of admiration and envy -- not the familiar scandalous glances and whispers of hearsay. For a moment she wished her roommates were there, they were better at the nuances than she.

_ “Mars is making an angle towards Saturn, you know.” Parvati hinted, as she brushed out the tangles in her long dark hair. _

_ “That means you must be careful! With any decisions regarding sexuality and aggression! And fire!” Lavender added, nodding her head in agreement. _

_ The duo sat in front of Parvati’s vanity, preening before leaving for Hogsmeade. _

_ “You could tell someone to be careful with fire everyday.” Hermione countered. _

_ “Well, extra careful then! One would be particularly prone to burns and accidents!” Lavender chirped. _

_ Hermione rolled her eyes, wordlessly donning her winter cloak. _

_ “You’re going to wear that?” Parvati scolded. _

_ “It’s snowing out!” said Hermione, astounded. _

_ Parvati and Lavender shared a look, eyebrows raised. _

  


The walk to Hogsmeade was quaint, the snowy path well-trodden. It was already dusk, the enchanted candles illuminating down from the tree tops. 

Just as she remembered, The Three Broomsticks was warm and buzzing with conversation. A little smoky, a little too dim, but cozy nonetheless. Hermione ordered a butterbeer at the counter, eyeing overtop heads and full stools before shuffling her way to an empty table around the corner of the inn. 

The butterbeer was foamy and sweet, the butterscotch flavor coated her tongue.

_ “Three firewhiskys. Thanks.” _

Hermione’s ears perked at the voice. Theodore stood tall above the rest of the crowd. Standing at the bar, the brunette nestled the three glass tumblers in one hand while digging in his trousers pocket with the other. He left a galleon on the counter before turning around, eyes scanning. Spotting Hermione, he shimmied through the pub before taking a seat across from her. 

“Butterbeer? Granger, it’s firewhisky tonight.” Theodore’s wide grin was contagious, Hermione found the corners of her mouth stretched to match it. 

“Why is that?” She laughed.

“Just trust me.” His eyes shimmered with something reminiscent of mischief as he gestured at the drinks.

Hermione picked up the heavy rocks glass, they clinked drinks and gave a nod. Raising the amber liquid to her lips, the burning left an embering trail down a throat, spirit pulsed through her veins before landing hot in her belly.

“You have one on standby?” Hermione teased regarding the third glass. 

“That’s not mine.” Nott said, grimacing as he took another gulp of his drink. 

“Who’s is it then?”

“He’ll be here in a moment. He’s running late,” Theodore explained, “Finish your drink.”

Hermione had no intentions of getting drunk. And she wouldn’t. 

But after years of rigidity, having to herd the boys back on track. Spending months waterlogged under Constant Vigilance. Maybe it was the firewhisky already coursing through her that made the decision for her.

She tipped the glass back quickly, a droplet caught on the corner of her lip. The firewhisky seared as it swirled against her insides, plummeting into her stomach. Wincing from the sapid liquor, she brought the back of her hand to dab at her mouth. Theodore’s brows raised in shock for a moment before looking pleased.

He downed the rest of his drink swiftly. Exhaling loudly, he unbuttoned his jacket. Seeing him do that seemed to remind Hermione she was a little warm as well. She removed her coat, draped it on the back of her chair.

Both Hermione and Theodore looked up as Draco approached the table. She had to stop herself from seeming too surprised at his presence.

“Ah! Sit, sit! Malfoy, this is Hermione Granger. Granger, Draco Malfoy.” Theo gestured from one to the other, features puckish. 

“I see you’ve already started.” Draco glanced from one empty glass to the other, reaching for the surviving drink.

“Wait! We should cheers with you! Hold on, I’ll get another round!” Theodore declared, throwing his chair back as he stood -- spinning back towards the bar. 

Draco and Hermione were suddenly plunged into silence with Nott’s absence. Granger drank her butterbeer through tight lips, fearful of dribbling some like she did with the firewhisky. She found herself missing the spicy amber beverage, how it seemed to melt away her tension and trepidation. 

“You look nice.” He attempted.

She fought a blush. Draco had an elbow to the table propping his head up with his palm. The other arm stretched across the wooden surface, long fingers circling the rim of his glass. 

“Thank you, Malfoy. As do you.” Hermione said, reeling. 

He did look nice. He looked radiant. Sleek platinum blond hair in a neat quiff, steely irises gleaming in the dim bar lighting. Instead of the usual Oxford and tie, he wore a cream-colored cable knit jumper and dark trousers. 

“Do you know why Nott invited me here?”

“Would you like to leave?” Draco’s face softened.

Hermione shook her head as Theodore returned carrying another trio of tumblers. He passed them out accordingly, settling back in the wooden chair. The three raised their glasses together before drinking. 

“You’re behind, mate,” Theo choked, swallowing the astringent liquid, “Catch up.”

Draco smirked, tilting the drink back quickly with a wince. He pulled the fresh firewhisky that Theo brought closer to him. Hermione took another sip.

“So. You both fancy each other.” Theo announced, nonchalant. 

The liquor caught in Hermione’s throat, stinging as she fought to swallow the obstruction. Draco looked at Theo nonplussed, eyes wide but lips pressed together. 

“I have some business to tend to at Potage’s. Goodnight.” Theodore hissed as he finished the rest of his drink.

He nimbley collected the empty glasses from the table and hung his jacket back over his arm before striding off. Setting the cups on an empty spot at the bar on his way out, he dropped a few sickles beside them. The remaining pair sat there incredulously, Hermione watched Nott’s departure through the front door while Draco examined the table top. A sharp gust of cold air blew into the room as Theodore closed the heavy wooden door behind him. She peeled her eyes off from across the bar, looked at Draco.

“I think about you,” Hermione wavered, “A lot.”

“Do you?” asked Draco, astonished. 

“I had been since before the eclipse. But especially now. After.” She said gently.

Draco said nothing, sipped his fresh drink. Hermione mirrored the action. The firewhisky was doing a marvelous job firing through her core, sending something reminiscent of bravery into her blood.

“You’ve changed. We’ve all changed.” Hermione admitted. 

Lifting his brow to look at her, he cocked his head to the side in perplexion, anticipation. 

“I was talking to Moaning Myrtle last night,” Hermione exclaimed, Draco scoffed at the sudden deviation, “She’s practically in love with you. Though very peeved you don’t visit her anymore.”

Draco tucked his chin towards his chest. Probably remembering the duel with Harry. His Sectumsempra scar. Hermione carried on.

“I think Nott’s mother had a Frenzy while she was at school. I was looking at lunar calendars, there would have been an eclipse during her sixth year. But she must have been with someone, obviously, since she lived to have Theodore. I wanted to ask Myrtle more but she started crying and flew off.” Hermione said, matter-of-factly. 

“She cried thinking of Nott’s mother’s Frenzy?” Draco winced, imagining Penelope writhing and sweating in agony as Hermione did. 

“Well. She was upset because she saw us in the prefects’ bathroom. And she started talking about you. Then Myrtle remembered she was a ghost, you know she’s so sensitive.” The words poured out of Hermione, firewhisky intensifying her already quite prone-to-droning tendency. 

“Myrtle saw us?”

“She thought you were hurting me so I suppose she popped her head in.” 

“I didn’t, did I?” Draco said darkly, “Hurt you?”

“Merlin, no. It was,” Hermione’s cheeks grew hot, “Nice.”

“Nice.” Draco repeated, almost questioning. 

“I needed it. To happen, I mean. Myrtle said you were lovely afterwards. Apologised, called me perfect and beautiful, and kissed me.” 

Draco lifted himself, sitting upright.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate. That night was very … hormonal. I didn’t expect _ your _ Frenzy to affect _ me _ so strongly.” Draco ground out. 

Hermione’s face fell.

The room seemed to close in. She knocked the rest of her drink back, it was silky and warm in her mouth. 

“So … you didn’t mean it?” Hermione eventually said, knitting her brows together. 

His gray eyes glinted, he looked at her with an abrupt sternness. 

“I _ do _ apologise. I am _ endlessly sorry _ and will always be. But not for that night.” Draco said with a warped grimace, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’ve spent a long time in the drawing room since. Staring at where you writhed on the rug. And then it happened again, didn’t it? You, in pain at my feet -- but in the prefects’ bath.

“I wanted to do something, for once. Help get you dressed and take you to Madam Pomfrey’s. But that damn smell crawled into me and … it was like a poison overtaking me. Had me convinced that it was the only thing I could do, bedding you.”

Hermione didn’t realize she was crying until a fat droplet rolled down her cheek. Draco pulled a handkerchief from his front trouser pocket. He offered it to her but when her hands didn’t reach out for it, he took it upon himself to pat the thin skin under her eyes with the folded crease. Draco set the dark cloth neatly in front of her on the table, now feeling rather awkward with his hands free. 

“I’m going to get another drink.” Hermione choked, looking around for her coin purse. 

“No, please.” Draco insisted quickly, darting to stand. He grabbed the empty glasses between them and moved to the bar. 

Hermione looked down at the handkerchief. It was deep Slytherin green, a luxurious silk twill with '_D.L.M.'_ embroidered in dazzling silver on a corner. She picked it up and almost felt ashamed as she dabbed her nose with it. 

Draco returned with an uncorked bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses. 

“I was never one for firewhisky.” He revealed. 

Setting the glasses down, he gracefully poured each halfway with the opaque amber-hued liquid. They clinked glasses yet again, Hermione brought the wine to her mouth without hesitation.

It was tart and acidic like unripe berries and vinegar. Then almost smoky, peppery. The taste vibrated along her tongue, making her jaw tingle as it trickled down. 

“It’s nightshade wine. I don’t believe they use Deadly Nightshade anymore.” Draco mused, holding his glass by the stem as he swirled the wine in slow circles.

“_Atropa belladonna _.” Hermione stated.

He added, “They say it causes delirium and hallucinations.”

“The plant or the wine?” She eyed the Slytherin in astonishment. 

Malfoy lazily shrugged.

Hermione glanced at the glass in her hand suspiciously before bringing it to her lips once more. 


	4. Part Four

Draco's mouth was soft, his thin lips against Hermione's fuller ones. The kiss was electrifying, sending pulses with every movement. She placed her hands on his chest, his snaked around her middle to rest on her hips. He pulled her in, closing the space between them. 

Delicately, Hermione's tongue traced his bottom lip. Draco eagerly allowed entrance, parting for her. 

He tasted smoky, of whiskey, yet tart from the wine. Her head swam as she relished in the cold wetness of his mouth. Running her tongue against his teeth, exploring, flicking at the sharp ends of his canines. His tongue met hers, the flesh smooth and cool. 

Draco moved, guiding Hermione backwards, desperate not to break the kiss. One hand left her side to pull the curtains around Hermione's bed apart. Carefully laying her on her back, he bore on top of her, propping himself on his elbows. His hands came to swipe the tousled hair off her face, thumbs caressing her jawline. 

Hermione tugged at the bottom of his jumper, he complied by sitting upright and pulling it overhead in one seamless motion. The white t-shirt underneath was rumpled, half exposing his taut midriff. She let her hands reach out for the strip of pale skin, running over the smooth muscle. 

Unbuttoning her blouse, Draco bent back over to her neck while his fingers deftly toyed with the dainty buttons. He left breathy kisses under her ear, down the column before stopping at her shoulders. His tongue dipped into the crook of her collarbone. Hermione shrugged off the blue top, letting Draco carelessly throw it across the bed. 

His large calloused hands trailed over her. Starting from her shoulders, passing over the top of her bra, coming down to trace the bottom of the cups. She shivered under his touch. Sitting up, Draco went to unfasten the hooks. 

He looked at her, his hair unkempt, lips swollen and red. Hermione would never forget how his eyes looked. The normally cold, steely gray was an unwavering charcoal-tint as they bore into her. Ravenous. 

Draco plucked the black bra off her skin, tossing it to land wherever it may. He pushed her back into the bed with another kiss, nipping the bottom of her lip when her head hit the pillow. Crawling down, his lips touched every surface between her mouth and her chest. Landing at her jawline, her neck, past her shoulders. He kissed the top of each breast, pecking up until his mouth landed on a perked nipple. Hermione moaned as he bit at the tight bud, flickered licks up against the tip. Moving over to the other, he suckled and brought the peak into his mouth, languidly sucking at the skin. She pushed her chest out, urging him closer. 

“That feels so good.” Hermione murmured, bringing one hand to the other breast to play with her nipple.

Malfoy swatted her hand away, before lowering his head further. Kissing below her ribcage, into the dip of her belly button. Slithering his fingers into the waistline of her skirt, she lifted her hips to allow him to pull the material down off her legs. The fabric pooled at her ankles. 

He pressed his lips into her hips, tracing over the hem in her knickers, the sheer black fabric flush against her pelvis. Hermione squirmed as Draco slid his fingers down between her thighs, back up again to the top of her pubic bone. His fingers dipped to touch the outside of her core, he smirked. 

“You’re already wet.” He teased. 

Draco slowly removed her panties, flinging it with the rest of her clothing. She had never felt so naked, laying underneath Draco -- who was still fully clothed. He rested his palm on the top of her mound, his thumb running through the wetness between her folds. 

“Malfoy.” Hermione mindlessly mumbled, hips rolling at his touch. 

His head dipped between her legs and Hermione about screamed at the contact. His hot mouth clamped onto her clitoris, flat broad strokes landing on the bundle of nerves. She bucked her hips before his other arm came to rest on her lower stomach, keeping her still. His thumb was replaced with a finger, slipping through her entrance. Hermione gasped, then bit her lip in ecstasy as Draco started lapping greedily at her clit. A second finger stretched her sex, Hermione threw her head back into the pillow as she gasped for breath. 

Turning his fingers upwards to the ceiling, he curled them, caressing the small patch of ridged skin as Hermione cried out, chest heaving up off the bed. She gripped her sheets in handfuls, straining to stay grounded.

Draco kept his other arm on her middle firm, locking her onto the bed as Hermione bucked. His tongue started to increase in speed, ravishing her clit, as his fingers probed her g-spot. Hermione felt the tightening in her core, a tension building layer after layer, an unbelievable pulsing between her legs. She twitched with every flick, every nibble. Convinced she could feel the heartbeat in Draco’s fingertips as they pressed into her orifice. Hermione’s chest started to tighten, her eyes clenched shut as the feeling built up higher against her wall.

_ “Stop!” _Hermione cried. 

Draco stopped immediately, withdrawing his fingers and bolting upright. His mouth was dripping with her sweetness. Chin reflecting the little bit of moonlight that came in through her dorm window. 

“I don’t want to come yet.” She admitted, breathily, sitting upright to look at him properly. 

He looked at her in disbelief, before smirking and moving to pull off his shirt. Hermione was already out of breath, but she would have been at the sight. She savored his firm torso, fingers frantic to cover every inch. Running her index along the large white scar bisecting his pectorals, creeping past his center to stop at his trousers. Pawing at his belt, she lingered over the hardness demanding attention at the front of his lap. 

Draco helped by pulling himself out for her. He was long, rigid, veins cording through the milky skin. The head at the end of his length was engorged, beading with precome. Draco was on his knees on the bed, Hermione moved to sit in front of him, gripping him at the base. He hissed at her touch, his eyes clamped shut.

“Look at me,” Hermione purred.

Draco did as was told, opening his eyes and tilting his head down to watch Hermione lick the head of his cock. He exhaled deeply as she swirled his tongue around the slippery skin. 

The other hand went to grip his shaft, jerking slowly and firmly as her mouth pursed tight around him. Draco palmed the hair at the back of her head, tugging against her scalp. Pumping her hand in time with her bobbing, she started an even pace, slipping up and down his now saliva-coated member. 

“I want you.” Draco demanded, standing to pull his trousers off entirely. 

His black boxer briefs followed, his erection slapping against his abdomen. Hermione moved to lay on her back, tucked among her pillows. Draco settled on his knees between her thighs, moving down to kiss her lips once more. 

“You’re so perfect.” He whispered against her mouth.

Aligning himself with her crease, he bit his lower lip as he carefully started to delve, feeling her pulse around him. Hermione felt an incredible fullness as he buried into her core, stretching as he burrowed deeper. The sensation was traversing through her chest, up to the crown of her head, down to her toes. She thought he’d never stop before she finally felt his hips knock into hers. 

A fire was searing in her pelvis, as if Malfoy was trying to rip her in two starting from between her legs. She panted, desperate to breathe. He bent over, placed fluttery kisses on her temple, her cheek, down her jaw, back up the other side of her. His hair fell onto her face. 

She smelled him for the first time that night. She hadn’t been able to smell him like before her Frenzy. That intoxicating smell. Wet earth and clean clouds. Damp flowers, cold wind. Sharp rain. 

“Ready?” Draco groaned against her ear. 

Hermione nodded. 

Draco pulled out, getting to about halfway before sinking back in again. He pushed through the tightening muscles, ending up at his hilt. It was slow and apprehensive, Draco clenched his jaw to keep his pace at bay. Hermione could see his lips pressed tight. She brought her hands to rest on the sides of his neck, running over the tense muscles. 

His hand came down to her mound, using his thumb to rub small, feathery circles over her clit. The sensation shot through Hermione, she tensed everything from her toes up to head as she bit down on her lower lip. Draco groaned as he felt her clamp down on his erection, the resistance slowing his pace. 

"_Faster._" Hermione moaned, moving her hands to clutch at the bedsheets. 

Draco did so without hesitation, rocking faster into Hermione. She started whimpering, snapping her hips up to meet him as the room filled with the slapping of wet skin. Draco moved down to drop his head in the crook of her neck, his hair piecey with perspiration. Her breaths short and choppy as Draco threw her further towards the edge.

“I’m so close.” Hermione mewled through gasps.

“Come for me then.” Draco growled into her ear.

The intensity increased as Draco thrusted furiously, slamming against her. Hermione’s fingers intertwined with the hairs at the back of his head, clinging desperately. 

_“Come with me. Come with me, Draco_._ Please._” Hermione pleaded as her slit seized down on his member.

Her toes curled achingly as she arched her back, the orgasm pouring from her core. Draco’s pace was feverish, slamming into her, fingers clawing into her hips as his seed shot against the back of cunt. He groaned as his hips erratically pumped through his release. Hermione milked the semen from his cock, filling her swollen sex. She quivered from under while Draco’s body jerked with tremors.

Draco pressed his lips into her shoulder, kissing the sticky skin softly before dropping his forehead onto the bed. His breath was ragged, exhaling against her neck. 

“_I thought about you constantly. _” He muttered. 

\-- --

Hermione woke up to an empty bed. 

There was a moment when she awoke. A split second. Before she remembered who she was or where she was. As her eyelids creaked open and she stared at the ceiling of her dorm. 

Then she remembered. 

She didn’t expect him to spend the night, not truly. But it still stung regardless. 

Sitting upright, her head pounded at the reorientation. She was naked, her sheets strewn haphazardly over the bed, her duvet on the floor. The sunlight cascading through the room had a particular way of illuminating the depravity of the previous night, the remaining evidence now somehow especially risque in the midday sun. 

Her bra hanging off the bedpost, her skirt blanketed across the hardwood, her stained knickers dangling off the corner of her desk. Clothes condemned off her body, cast off in the heat of the moment. Now to be unceremoniously collected. Alone. 

Hermione reached for her dressing gown, loosely tying it over her naked form while she tidied. Picking up her coat from the floor, Malfoy’s handkerchief fell out of her pocket. She didn’t know she took it. The end of the night was a blur. After the second bottle of wine, she wasn’t entirely sure how they got up to her dorm. She was embarrassed at the thought of the two of them drunkenly stumbling up the stairs to her dormitory. 

A sharp rap on the door made her shuffling cease. Crossing the room, she grimaced at the idea of McGonagall standing at the landing, ready to berate her for the belligerent delinquencies. 

She could practically hear the shrill scolding already.

_ “Why, Miss. Granger! Intoxication on school grounds, breaking curfew, sexual misconduct, not to mention bringing a Slytherin into the Gryffindor tower!” _

It was Draco. 

“I was worried you’d be awake.” Draco frowned, “May I?”

“Certainly.” Hermione stepped to the side, allowing him into her room. 

The formality was uncomfortable. But she followed his lead nonetheless.

“I left to fetch you a Contraceptive Potion.” He pulled a small green vial out of his trousers pocket. 

She remembered the last time she had to take it. The morning after her Frenzy. The taste was awful, like black licorice and soap. She wasn’t eager to have it again. 

“That was kind of you.” She nodded her head, taking the rounded bottle from him. 

Standing there for a moment, reveling in what an utterly ridiculous situation they’ve found themselves in. Last night they couldn’t get enough of the other. Yet, they both cast their eyes down to the floor.

“You’ve left your handkerchief.” Hermione remembered, fetching the green cloth from the pile of clothes raked together. 

“You can have it,” Draco hummed, “If you’d like.”

“I insist. It’s yours.” She stepped towards him, pressing the folded square into his hands. 

Hermione lingered, letting her grasp enclose his for a moment longer than needed. 

Suddenly busying herself with making the bed, she turned her back to him as she mused, “May I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“Was that your little plan? With Nott?” Hermione said with a frown, “It was rather poorly designed, if I say so myself.” 

“I didn’t know he would do that. He insisted you’d have a little chat, he’d share what else he knew about the Ostros. Then maybe after you’ve both had a few drinks you’d be more receptive to … my company.” Draco laughed bitterly. 

“A few drinks? We had just barely finished the first one when you arrived.” Hermione furrowed her brows together as she turned to face him.

“So I saw. I realized he had an entirely different plan in mind, though I suppose, realized a little too late.” He looked back up at Hermione.

His eyes were bright, silvery and exact.

“I meant it. I thought about you constantly.” His tone severe. 

“As did I.” Hermione smiled meekly.

\-- --

“You’ve brought guests?” Moaning Myrtle giggled.

Theodore walked in hesitantly behind Draco and Hermione, head on a swivel as he scanned the decayed lavatory. 

“This is Myrtle.” Hermione announced. 

“Theodore Nott.” He apprehensively nodded towards the ghost as she flittered around him, surveying from multiple angles. 

“Nott?” Myrtle looked at Hermione, narrowing her eyes. 

“We were wondering if you would be able to tell Theo what you knew about his mother.” Malfoy interjected, “You see, she passed away when he was eleven.”

The ghost looked at Draco longingly, bringing a translucent hand to swipe at his chin -- although her hand disappeared seamlessly through his skin. 

“Have you told her you fancy her?” Myrtle bleated, nudging her head towards Hermione’s direction. 

Draco gave a chaste nod, fighting a grin. 

Moaning Myrtle let out a choked cry, but swallowed audibly and nodded once. Vanishing then reappearing in front of Theo, he jumped. 

“Did you know Penelope was good at Quidditch? Sometimes, when I doze off I’ll get flushed into the lake. You can see the pitch easily.” Myrtle admitted, “She was Keeper.” 

Theodore’s eyes widened, “I didn’t know that.” 

Hermione and Draco beamed while Myrtle indulged Theodore, pulling away to retreat into the alcove of the lavatory entrance. 

“The next lunar eclipse is in two years.” Hermione murmured wryly, bringing Draco’s hand up to kiss the knuckles. 

Draco smirked, wrapping his hand around her waist to pull her towards him, “I’ll start counting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed, thank you for reading! 
> 
> (I think my next fic will be a Hermione/Theodore lol so keep your eye out for that!)


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